


Mama's Gonna Buy You A Mockingbird

by EnvyBakemono



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Letters, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvyBakemono/pseuds/EnvyBakemono
Summary: "My son is not a monster.Oh, I can hear you shaking your head and clucking your tongue now. Silly old woman. Doesn’t she understand that these are matters of state security – well, I do, thank you very much, and I value the health of my little boy more than whatever ancient grudge you are still nursing against my husband." Mrs. Bradley & Selim, gen ficlet.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr blog giveaway (fullmetalpositivity) for the lovely Brewka!
> 
> (Check out my main blog moonlitwatersunnyriver on Tumblr for more on my writing and what on earth I've been up to - I've got some looong fics in the works that are gonna hit AO3 in the next month.)

November 17th, 1924

From: East City  
Oakley Estate,  
Walkley Road, Leighton District  
K-445B  


To: Central City  
Central Headquarters, First Building  
The personal desk of Roy Mustang  
A111A-RM

* * *

 

Fuhrer Mustang,

My son is not a monster.

Oh, I can hear you shaking your head and clucking your tongue now. Silly old woman. Doesn’t she understand that these are matters of _state security –_ well, I do, thank you very much, and I value the health of my little boy more than whatever ancient grudge you are still nursing against my husband.

Now that I’ve made that clear – I am writing to you because for the fifth time this year, Selim’s identity has been compromised to a school doctor. He came home to me in tears, telling me that the nurses and doctor had taken him aside and started prodding at the mark on his forehead and asking about his dreams. He is seven years old, Mustang, and I cannot avoid answering these questions forever, not when you and your spies and soldiers seem to take it upon yourself to remind him at every turn that he is not normal! After this trip to the doctor’s, some children in the schoolyard made the connection about who his father was, and after the last seven years I am loath to blame that on coincidence, either.

Here is the truth of things; Selim is a shy, reserved, extremely intelligent boy. He doesn’t like crowds. He has bad dreams. He cries when he bruises, and when he thinks about how big the world is, and when he sees other people with their dads and I can only tell him that his father was a very, very brave man. The fact that you are still, after all this time, terrified that he will turn into some monster from legend baffles me. Whatever was done to you, I’m afraid to say, is officially yours to deal with, and not ours.

So here it is: this is official notice that Selim and I are leaving. Where, I’m unsure as of yet – but we’ll find somewhere. It’s time for the government to forget that Selim ever existed, and for me to do what I should have done years ago. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, isn’t it? – even from those who are entirely convinced that they are doing the right thing. Perhaps you are, and I’m the senile one, but I must learn to trust my own convictions.

I know you think I am being terribly foolish. My convictions have led me astray before. However, I beseech you, Mustang, as the one who brought all the terror of the siege of Central both to a beginning and an end, to understand that we all do what we think is necessary. Do not look for us. Trust that I have always seen…. Perhaps not the facts of things. Let’s say the truth of things. Whoever else my husband was, he was a caring and brave man – and whoever else my son was, he was and is a little boy in need of a safe home. In much the same way, whoever else you are and whatever else you have done, you have always been an advocator for a better way.

Respectfully yours,

Minna Bradley

May we meet again some day.

* * *

She lifted her pen from the paper, blew on it to help the ink dry, then stood up and closed the suitcase on her bed with a decisive ‘click’. She intended to be well shot of the place by the time the bluntly-worded epistle made its way to Mustang’s desk – and everything else was in order. The train tickets were in her breast pocket. Her wealth was invested or given away or transformed into transportable necklaces and jewellery and bonds. And Selim –

Something was prodding up inside the suitcase, tucked inexpertly into one of the side pockets. She carefully unbuttoned the flap and pulled it back. A kitchen knife glinted menacingly at her, pieces of the suitcase lining caught on its blade.

She heard quiet footsteps behind her, and quietly pulled the knife out and laid it on the covers. The room continued in silence for a little while longer. Then, in a shameful, scared voice, Selim spoke up. “M-my dreams told me I should have one. Just in case.”

Minna smiled, shook her head and turned around, dropping to one knee so she could look her son in the eye. “Remember what we said about dreams?”

“They’re – they’re not real?” he said uncertainly.

“Exactly. They’re not real. Even if they seem like it sometimes.”

Selim’s hands were squeezing his arms tightly, so tightly she could see how he was dimpling the flesh there. She reached up and took them, prying them away so she could hold them in her own worn and wrinkled hands. “It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t need a knife.”

“I don’t?”

“Not at all. I’ll protect you. That’s a promise.”

He finally began to relax, and once he looked a little less like he was going to pass out, she stood up. The gun buckled under her wide skirt pressed against her leg, cold metal warmed by her blood.

She would never be caught defenseless again. Not when she had someone to protect.


End file.
